


No Safety For World Academy

by refinedgluttony



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: College AU, College au cause high school aus are sort of overdone in this fandom, Countries Using Human Names, I don't ship this but it was super fun, It's about time for a college au, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Scent Kink, Slight reference to 911, Some Humor, Sub Alfred, Tsundere Arthur but he actually hates Alfred, USUK - Freeform, Voice Kink, at first
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-28
Updated: 2017-08-28
Packaged: 2018-12-21 00:53:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11932932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/refinedgluttony/pseuds/refinedgluttony
Summary: Taco Tuesday turned into a Taco Tornado when the new student at World Academy Alfred F. Jones accidentally trips and spills his fajita taco tray on Senior Kirkland’s signature embroidered scarf. Salt and sexual tension both start with "s".The abbreviation of this fic is NSFW Academy, yes that was intentional.





	No Safety For World Academy

  This was certainly one for the World Academy books, Alfred thought.

  The first ever American exchange student to get accepted into World Academy and he had already spilled his Taco Tuesday special (a moment of solemn silence for the perfectly made fajita meat delicately seasoned with cilantro and salsa) all over Senior Kirkland’s hand-embroidered school issued scarf.

  Way to go with crushing stereotypes about American citizens all being ignorant and careless. Yay him.

   He hadn't seen the bright yellow wet floor sign (and not because he was clumsy or thoughtless but because he had in fact been walking backwards for a totally cool reason that didn't need explaining) and had gracelessly slipped an astonishing 6 feet (seriously, who spilt 6 feet of _Coke Zero?_ What tortured soul chose to drink Coke Zero _willingly?)_ to promptly collide hip-first into a nearby senior table that just so happened to seat the European senior class and dump the contents of his over-stacked tray of Taco Tuesday deliciousness directly into Arthur Kirkland’s famed scarf.

  Alfred had jumped back once he realized what he had done, saying sorry so many times that he was sure it sounded like a demented religious chant by the time Arthur registered that his carefully ironed scarf with the best hand embroidery of the Union Jack to ever be seen was ruined by none other than the new American exchange student.

  Now, Alfred had never met a British person before. In fact, this was his first time coming into physical proximity to the single student representative of The United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland.

  Jiminy Crickets, that was a name you didn't want to formally address more than several times in one speech.

  Recalling everything he'd seen in movies about the decorum and niceties that British people all shared in common, Alfred expected a dignified and humble ‘No problem here, mate. Keep calm and carry on and all that’.

  Which is why Alfred stared blankly and expectantly when Arthur’s pewter green eyes dawned on him, and his pink mouth moved to speak.

  “Were you born with your eyes in your ass, you stupid wank?”

    Uh. Wow. Rude.

  Also, whatever “wank” was, it sounded super offensive and particularly nasty, so Alfred knew for sure it didn't mean “pal” in British English. The rest of his sentence had made perfectly clear sense though.

  Because Alfred was ever the polite Southern boy he still was, he tried to be civil with frankly, the meanest thing anyone's ever said to him in an academic setting.

  “Pardon me? I'm not sure I heard you correctly...?”

  “Oh, sorry. Is my British accent hard to process with those American ears of yours? Can you hear me over the sound of your bootleg Greek democracy or endangered National bird?”

  Ouch. Holy smokes, you'd think Alfred had rubbed this guy's tea cup against his crotch before handing it back to him or something.

   But Alfred’s mouth was making a comeback before he could stop himself.

  “What, you guys colonized everything but still end up the size of my backyard at home?”

  Arthur froze, his complexion less pale. He actually looked lively with that flush of angry pink in his cheeks. He stood up, his frame not that impressive in front of Alfred’s broader and taller build, but still, those eyes were burning holes right through him.

   “It's all about size with you Yanks,” He sneered, his bottom lip pulling back into an almost snarl. “If you didn't make everything the size of a mountain, you'd miss the damn thing even if it hit you straight in the face.

   Yikes, that sounded horribly specific to Alfred.

    “At least we have huge things to see. What can you see in London through that stupid rain and traffic? No offense, but at least I get to see the sun and not look like a corpse.”

   Alfred was lying. Arthur had the nicest skin he'd ever seen. Pretty, even. He didn't look like a corpse, more like an irreplaceable ceramic piece. And Arthur definitely wasn't super attractive, especially when he was mad.

   Realizing something, Alfred noticed how close the both of them were to each other since they had started trading insults.  

   When had Alfred leaned in while he was coming up with clapbacks? When had Arthur come so close that it was now possible to count his eyelashes and see the texture of this thin upper lip? Senior Kirkland smelled like Earl Grey tea, old books, and tacos. The last part definitely Alfred’s fault but not off-putting in the least.

  “You look like a burnt orange traffic sign, yourself, you big oaf. Give the tanning a rest, will you?” Senior Kirkland said, closing off the remaining space between them, leaving only a sliver between their faces.

   His breath smelled like spearmint, it was warm against Alfred’s drying mouth.

  “W-well I, uh, um...”

  Suddenly, it was harder for Alfred to search his mind for a coherent thing to say.

  “Cat got your tongue, Mr. Jones?” Arthur asked lowly with a smirk.

  That line was super hot, and it made his knees turn into a thick jelly.

  Shoot. Alfred was gay. So gay. Being called “Mr. Jones” in that accent was enough to ding all sorts of golden bells in Alfred’s system. And now, “tongue” was the only word Alfred was hyper-aware of.

  “My... tongue? What about my tongue?” Alfred repeated stupidly, trying very hard not to let himself sound like a neanderthal with his exchanges but failing miserably. “What do you want with my tongue?”

   Arthur Kirkland’s face flushed a warm scarlet at Alfred’s less than expected reply.

    _No one said a bloody thing about wanting your tongue!_ ” Arthur yelled.

  The cafeteria went a little quiet at the very out-of-context outburst from the British student.

   Alfred clapped his hands over his ringing ears.

  Jesus, and he thought _he_ could be loud.

  It was pretty apparent that most if not all of the cafeteria had caught Arthur’s voice at that decibel. The rest of the European students occupying the surrounding tables gave both he and Arthur the most incriminatingly teasing looks.

  A nearby brown-haired student clapped Arthur on the back with a cheerful grin. “Let him go, Arthur! He said he was sorry a bajillion times already, just give Signorini Jones a little hug therapy!” By way of his Italian accent, Alfred could guess that he was Feliciano Vargas, student representative of Italy. (It was easy to memorize most of the student names because there were only 218 of them, anyhow.)

  “I'm not hugging this wanker!” Arthur protested, smacking Senior Vargas’ hand away.

  To be fair, a hug didn't sound horrible. Plus, Alfred felt grateful to Feliciano for breaking the tension. He'd have to thank him later.

  “Yeah, dunno about a hug. But I can clean your scarf for you to save you the trouble.” Alfred said, his hand readjusting his glasses.  

   “That's,’ Arthur began intensely, but then his face softened in curiosity “...a very mature and generous proposal, actually.”

  Senior Kirkland unlooped the scarf over his pale blonde hair, neatly folded it, and handed it to Alfred.

  “I expect it returned to godliness, Mr. Jones.” He said simply.  

  “Sure thing, Mr. Kirkland.”

 

* * *

 

  Grease stains were easy peasy.

    Just wash ‘em out with lemon soda and they ran like the Dickens. It was an old trick Mrs. Jones taught her son at an early age and had Alfred fighting stains like a champ by the age of 14.

   Still, before Alfred could properly wash it, he gave the embroidery on the scarf a closer look.

   His calloused fingers ran over the delicate knitting of the Union Jack embedded into the blue and purple plaid pattern of the wool scarf. That along with Arthur’s first and last name knitted along the bottom of the flag in elegant yet readable cursive.

  The edges were perfectly straight and the thread was pulled so tight, you could have mistaken it for a manufactured product.

  Alfred admired the workmanship put into it. Even if the owner of the work was a bit of an ass.

  He could still smell the fajita in the grease stains, but the smell of Earl Grey and old books was still as fresh as if Arthur was still wearing it.

  All it needed was the warmth of a body.

 

  Oh.

 

  Alfred looked around his dorm laundry room, knowing he lived without a roommate but still kind of anxious someone would catch him.

  Catch him doing what?

  Catch him smelling Arthur’s scarf.

  The smell of Earl Grey tea was strong as Alfred buried his nose and mouth with the wool scarf. But there was something else there too. Roses. Kind of like a sweaty rose smell. Alfred liked it. Alfred closed his eyes and breathed in a different part of the scarf.

  Inhale. Exhale.

  This is what Arthur smelled like.

  Inhale.

  What would it be like to get close to him enough to smell him again? Close enough to touch him?

  Exhale.

  If he kissed him, would it taste like tea? Would his saliva be refreshing like rain? Would his tongue curl at the end when he licked?

  Inhale.

  Would his hands be soft and gentle or would they be angry and rough with him? On him? In him?

  Exhale.

  Alfred sank to the floor, his dick too hard to ignore now. He palmed himself slowly with each breath he took.

  It was so easy to imagine his voice.

   _Touching yourself at the thought of me, Mr. Jones?_

 Alfred groaned, slipping his free hand down the front of his sweatpants and pulling out his already leaking cock. He leaned against the washing machine and started pumping his length steadily.

   _Who knew all it took was the smell of me to get you hard and breathless?_

  “Mmm-guh,” Alfred let out helplessly into the scarf. His inhale/exhale pattern was getting more intense. He gripped more of scarf tighter in his fist, covering his entire face with it as he quickened the pace of his hand.

  He was hot all over, his body straining to last as long as it could.

  _I supposed all Americans are a bit thirsty for something hot and British. You're not thinking of_ tea _though, are you Jones?_ _You filthy pervert._

“Hh-hahh-ah!” The heat coiled up inside Alfred was like a pressure valve threatening to bust a suture and explode. He played with himself at a quicker, rougher pace, the head of his dick weeping with white cum unto his bare stomach.

  With a high keen and the intense green eyes of Arthur Kirkland in his mind, Alfred came like a horny high schooler all over his sweatpants.

  He lay thereafter, spent. The scarf had fallen to the white tile floor beside him.

 

* * *

 

  It was near impossible to go about his day without Arthur thinking about the new student.

  Reason 1: every time he felt at his neck for his scarf, he remembered what happened at luncheon and became angry all over again.

  Reason 2: the anger would quickly subside in place of attraction for the blue-eyed bespectacled offender who was mature enough to wash the aforementioned scarf to save Arthur the trouble.

  It also didn't help that the new student was fit as bloody hell and had the American boy spiel radiating around him like a magnet for those who came close enough to get pulled in.

  He was so tall and broad. What did he eat, blended dumbbells with eggs?

  A knock at Arthur’s dorm door electrocuted him to full alert.

  “Arthur? It's me, Alfred. Uh... your scarf’s done.” Alfred’s voice muffled through the wood.

  Arthur almost fell from the settee as he lunged for the door, forgetting that the kitchenette had a counter he had to maneuver around.  

  His hand opened the door with a calm click, his heart shooting up behind his mouth when coming face to face with all 177 centimetres of the sole U.S. student. (No, he did not look up his file from the archives, that would be an abuse of his position as Student Council president.)

  Arthur’s thought process was rendered as useless as a single sock as Alfred leaned on the door frame with a bright smile and held up his immaculate folded scarf like the taco fiasco had never happened.

  “How did you get the grease stains out so quickly?” Arthur asked as he took the scarf, giving it a twice-over.

  “Lemon soda for grease stains and a quick wash and air dry. It was as good as new.” Alfred said simply.

  Was it Arthur’s imagination, or did Alfred blush as he said that?

  “Oh. Thank you.” Arthur said awkwardly. Damn. As nervous as he was, he wanted Alfred to stay a bit longer. “Would you care to join me for afternoon tea?”

  Alfred’s face brightened (how it could brighten any _more_ was Arthur’s guess) at that.

  “That sounds nice, dude. What kind are we having?”

  “Um, chamomile. It helps soothe me for studying.” Arthur answered as he let Alfred in, letting his gentlemanly mannerisms showcase themselves. “How do you take your tea? One lump or two?”

  “Would it be weird if I said I want five? I like tea super sweet.”

  “That can be arranged.” Arthur said with a smile, suddenly at home with the cheeriness of the other blonde. It was only an hour ago they were at each other's throats.

  Alfred stared at him.

  Arthur frowned. Did he have something on his face? Why was he staring at him?

  “What's the matter?”

  With a fidget, Alfred broke his stare to dart his eyes around the kitchenette. “Oh, nothing sorry. Just... you have a really nice smile.”

  Fuck all. Now Arthur’s face was warm as the water he was pouring in the kettle.

  “Thank you.” Arthur said simply.

  God save the Queen. Arthur didn't know how he managed it, but he had a sexy American in his dorm room alone. Whatever happened now was subject to further developments.

  
   There was no safety for World Academy.

**Author's Note:**

> 1st prize fic for user s1nnamon-roll
> 
> business email: refinedgluttony(@)gmail (.)com  
> Twitter: @refinedgluttony  
> Tumblr: refinedgluttony.tumblr.com


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